


Al Detente

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Good Eats RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-20
Updated: 2006-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 07:54:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1639982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Alton Brown and the mysterious W came to be reluctant allies in the battle for justice, excellence in gadgetry, and dare we say it, Good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Al Detente

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Catrinella for beta and encouragement.
> 
> Written for Ryuutchi

 

 

 **Master Fu's Cuisine of Asia**  
Somewhere in South Asia  
Some Years Ago  


Alton nodded at approximately appropriate times as the woman from Beaumont prattled on about her Bedlington terriers. Her polyester suit was a decidedly bilious shade of green, which didn't help his already dampened appetite. His gaze roamed about the bar. All of his tour companions seemed to be enjoying themselves, chatting over their umbrella-festooned cocktails and munching happily on the flabby potstickers. The brochure had promised "an exotic world tour of Culinary Adventure" but so far the food was no more inspired than "Stir-Fry" night at the Shoney's back home. He decided to take his dinner into his own hands. He murmured something about a visit to the men's room, but before the Beaumont lady could finish her warning about the unhygienic nature of Asian toilets, he was out the door and sprinting down the street. 

**Anonymous Restaurant  
** Somewhere Somewhat Nearby  
A Half-hour Later  


This, Alton thought, was a significant improvement. He looked up from the incomprehensible menu and around the dim dining room where only a few tables were occupied, all with Asians. This was truly authentic cuisine.  
  
A wrinkled old man with a stained apron approached his table, pencil and pad in hand.  
  
"I'm sorry, I don't speak your language," Alton said brightly. "Please bring me the specialty of the house!"  
  
The old man gave him a confused look.  
  
Alton changed tack and pointed to a line on the menu. "One of these, please."  
  
When the man nodded and smiled broadly, Alton felt like a man of the world. From the look on the man's face, he had chosen wisely. No, there would be no catsup-laden sweet-and-sour pork here. Emboldened, he indicated a few more dishes. With an even wider smile and a bow, the man scribbled on his pad and scuttled back to the kitchen.  
  
Alton wiped his glasses and glanced around, trying to see what delights the other diners were enjoying. He was looking in disbelief at a claw sticking out from a hot pot when a rap on his table brought him out of his hunger-induced reverie. There was a woman standing by his table.  
  
She wasn't tall, but she was striking. Her glossy black hair was pinned up in a bun and her dark eyes gleamed down at him. She wore a gray suit, but still had the presence most women wouldn't have in a silk evening gown. She was a woman, all right. With a capital "W". And after a week's worth of Beaumont housewives, Alton was staring at her like a -well, he couldn't really think of a good simile, but Alton was staring. A lot.  
  
"Close your mouth before any of the more exotic local insects fly in there, boy."  
  
Her voice was rich, exotic, commanding. And her accent was. It was. Well, actually really American. He squinted in confusion as she sat down across from him.  
  
Just then, the waiter returned with a steaming bowl of soup, spicily fragrant and enticing. Alton immediately took his spoon in hand and had a sip. Delicious.  
  
"Mmm." He looked up at his companion, whose stare could have bored a hole right through him. "Would you like to join me? This is wonderful!"  
  
"No thank you," she said dryly. "Where I come from, we don't eat that part of the sheep. Or ram, to be precise."  
  
Alton's spoon fell from his hand and landed with a thud on the table. His stomach felt queasy.  
  
"And you should perhaps also know what you ordered for dinner was from the very endanger-"  
  
Alton cut her off with a slightly panicked yelp, his hands in front of his face. "No, stop. That's fine. Really." He looked at her through his fingers. "How did you know what I ordered? And just who are you?"  
  
Her eyebrows rose and she let out a little sigh which, Alton sensed, was a sign of annoyance. "This is no place for a college kid on break, all right? Why don't you just let me do my job? _Do_ go try to find a McDonald's or something." She was smiling, but it was a thin, tight smile. She was not at all pleased with him, even though all he'd done was unwittingly order some ram's tes-  
  
Alton really wanted a glass of water. He swallowed hard; the wave of nausea passed and the capital-W Woman was still looking at him. He was getting pretty irritated himself.  
  
"Lady, I don't know who you think you are, some kind of Food Police or-"  
  
"Shhhh!" the Woman hissed, leaning over the table towards him. "Keep your voice down, you idiot!"  
  
Alton leaned forward too, curiosity winning out over the less pleasant feelings in his gut. Now this was exciting - this is what he had come on the culinary adventure for! "Food police?" he whispered back, nearly nose to nose with Her. "What do you do? Look for criminals in the kitchen? Health inspection? No wait, like you said, endangered ingredients! That's really nifty!"  
  
In his excitement, Alton had failed to remember that police usually had a partner so he didn't feel the prick of the needle through his hula-print shirt, nor was he really aware when he sank into unconsciousness. 

**Hotel Continental  
** Some Hours Later?  


Alton tossed and turned on the bed and dreamed of a buffet where under every gleaming silver dome were stewed gym socks. He coughed at the smell and awoke, eyes wide. He tried to sit up but moved too quickly and flopped back down again, head throbbing.  
  
"Ow." He held his head still and looked from side to side. He could almost hear his eyeballs creaking. He hadn't had a hangover like this since Cousin Ray spiked the punch at the deacon's Christmas party.  
  
He was back in his hotel room and the clock -had it ticked so horribly loudly yesterday?- showed that it was a bit before seven. Still plenty of time before the Continental's continental breakfast. He scrubbed his hands through his hair and reached for his glasses, slowly so as not to anger the men hammering inside his skull. There was a bit of paper taped to his wire-rims. He unfolded it and read:  
  
 _Dear Alton, (Yes, we did check your wallet so we know who you are.)_  
  
Alton set aside the letter and quickly - ow - reached for his wallet which thankfully still held his license, his Master Charge, and a few crumpled bills. He resumed reading.  
  
 _(No, we didn't take anything although it should be noted that some things left in wallets for eons lose their efficacy somewhat. Trust me, the coeds will thank you to update your supplies.)_  
  
You may feel a bit groggy as my colleague was forced to administer a mild sedative before you endangered our mission further. You should feel much like your old self by dinnertime, which, if I have done my research correctly, will be Mongolian chicken.  
  
Enjoy. You won't be seeing us soon.  
  
-W.  
  
Alton frowned, blinked, and re-read the letter. So he had been onto something! The Woman, as well as her unseen partner, were members of some elite squad that undoubtedly tracked and captured evil poachers! They were fighting for what was right and good, and someday maybe he could join them in their quest. Alton began to imagine it: he, the Woman, and her partner, undoubtedly a woman as blonde as she was dark, creeping through the streets in skin tight cat suits, forced to hide together in cramped spaces...  
  
A short time later, Alton headed for the shower. 

****Bed, Bath, and Beyond  
Dunwoody, GA  
Many Years Later  


What Alton really needed were a few examples of how collecting unitaskers could turn a kitchen into a cluttered mess. He looked around at the kitchen department, which was crammed full of ear-shaped tins for corn muffins and stacked boxes of hinged omelet pans, and knew he was in the right place. A cheerful looking young man wearing a store badge was approaching him wearing a how-may-I-help you smile. Not wishing to be helped to mock the gadgets, Alton backed into an aisle behind a stack of plastic mandolines.  
  
"Ooof."  
  
Alton stopped backing.  
  
"Why don't you watch where you're going?"  
  
Alton shivered. That voice. After so many years, he still recognized it. He turned around and she was there. She. Her. The Woman with a capital W.  
  
"You!" Alton exclaimed.  
  
"Excuse me, but do I know you from somewhere?" She already sounded impatient and demanding, and a little part of him (well, ok, not so little and growing larger by the moment) would really like to see what she could do with a whisk.  
  
He cleared his throat and tried to sound professional. "Yeah, we met in a cafe about fifteen years ago. I was about to eat some ram's testicle soup and interrupted your undercov-"  
  
Her hand came up quickly and she silenced him by shoving a lobster bib into his open mouth. "I don't know what you're talking about." She smiled a cold smile.  
  
"Bmmf m rmmmbr yfrm mrfff!" He spat out the cloth. "You were a secret agent and you had a partner and mrrf!"  
  
She shoved the bib back.  
  
"I'm retired. And I intend to enjoy my retirement peacefully." She glared at him. "And anonymously." The Woman turned and stalked down the aisle, disappearing around the corner.  
  
Alton stood there a moment too stunned to move, then ran after her, but she was nowhere to be found. He asked the "how-can-I-help-you" young man, a surly stockgirl, and even the store manager, but they all denied employing or ever seeing a slim Asian woman in a crisp blue suit.  
  
Dejected, Alton purchased a well-balanced, multifunctional pair of shears and slunk away. 

****Alton's Kitchen  
Suburban Atlanta  
Several Months Later  


Alton felt he was close to a breakthrough. He had spent all afternoon at the local craft store and now, with a selection of colored felt pieces, three jars of glitter, a pound and a half of art clay, and a package of gummi sharks, he was very near to the perfect explanation of how to layer toppings, cheese, and sauce to make the perfect pizza. Admittedly, the sharks were mostly for snacking but he was still very close.  
  
He entered the house through the garage and the sight that greeted him was far from what he was expecting. He had instructed his intern to tidy up the kitchen, but it was a wreck. It looked like some epic struggle had taken place there with flour and cornmeal as the weapons of choice.  
  
"Paul!" he bellowed as he stormed into the house. "Paul, for the love of Pete, what have you done?"  
  
There was no answer.  
  
Alton glanced out the window. Paul's old clunker was still parked by the curb. He had to be here somewhere, probably hiding.  
  
"Paul!"  
  
This time, Alton heard a muffled whimper from the pantry. What Paul could have gotten into, he wasn't sure, but he was going to have stern words with his wayward assistant. Alton flung open the door only to find Paul bound to a dining room chair and gagged with a Yukon Gold.  
  
Immediately, Alton grabbed the tuber and knelt to untie the bonds. "Paul, what happened? Are you okay? Who did this?"  
  
As soon as the potato was removed, Paul sucked in a deep breath and immediately began babbling. The first words Alton understood were French and Chef and Woman and Vichyssoise.  
  
"What?" Alton was incredulous. "The chef did this? And why? And what does Vichyssoise have to do with this?"  
  
Paul took another deep breath and rubbed his chafed wrists. "He was looking for you; said you'd know where to find the woman who ruined his career. " Paul gave an embarrassed shrug. "I'm sorry, I didn't follow it all but there was something about someplace called Indochine and a hotel and an investigation with secret agents and you knew where she was and he'd deliver up a dose of Vichyssoise when he found her."  
  
"A dish best served cold." Alton nodded gravely. He knew what he had to do. 

****Back At Bed, Bath, and Beyond  
Dunwoody, Georgia  
27 Minutes Later  


Alton dashed into the store, looking frantically for the Woman. He turned a corner too quickly and collided with an excessively decorative toilet brush holder.   
  
"Damn."   
  
"Can you not even shop peacefully?"  
  
Alton had never been so happy to be condescended to. "Thank Heaven. I need to talk to you," he panted.  
  
"I seriously doubt that."  
  
"No, it's important!" Alton reached up to grab the hem of her well-tailored suit before she could turn away. "There's this French Chef from Indochina who really, really wants to find and do something really bad to you. Possibly with leeks."  
  
The Woman's eyes glittered and she reached down to help him to his feet then tugged him back into the shower curtain display. "Tell me what you know."  
  
He shared what he knew, and a hasty cell phone call to Paul yielded a few more details. She listened carefully and shook her head, face tight with anger.  
  
"He should be in prison, and when I'm through with him he'll wish he had been. He's a disgrace to the word 'chef'." For a moment she had a far off look in her eye, then she turned her attention back to Alton. Her face softened, just a little. "Perhaps I've underestimated you, Mr. Brown."  
  
"You know my name?"  
  
She arched an eyebrow.  
  
"Yeah, you would tell me, then you'd have to kill me. I know the drill."  
  
She nodded.  
  
"But I've helped you out, so I guess you owe me, right? Like maybe make me an honorary member of-" Her expression made him stop short and he finished lamely, "help me out sometimes with equipment?"  
  
"Well, as you certainly don't seem to be able to make it through a simple home store unaided, I suppose I might be able to lend a hand. Do they let you have sharp objects?"  
  
Alton grinned. This was going to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Or something.  
  
The End.  
  


 


End file.
